


Connection

by Devcon03



Series: Haven, Void and Beyond [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage (Other), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, Starscream steering the ship, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, soft-core D/S, spark-merging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devcon03/pseuds/Devcon03
Summary: The aftermath hits, and balance must be restored.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redseeker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redseeker/gifts).



> A/N: This is for my girl, redseeker. 
> 
> WARNING: There is /no/ canon to back this up, ever. Therefore; don't like, then please, don't read.
> 
> Otherwise, please read the warnings before reading my fics.

Waking up slowly was never a thing Devcon the bounty hunter would indulge in. _Devcon the bar owner_ , however, enjoys drifting between a sweet slumber and vivid dreams. In his own berthroom, surrounded by everything he loves, his spark shines contently, safe within the walls of his chosen nest. 

Time passes, but he doesn’t take notice of it. When he finally does, the chronometer on his nightstand promptly informs him that it’s late – _downtime_ even. Before it goes off into a blasted frenzy again, the hunter disconnects it and stretches sleepily, giving his systems time to reboot properly. The berth is soft beneath him, so very warm and comfortable, all silky. It does not inspire him to get out of it anytime soon.

Blessed silence spreads like a blanket of mist now that the chronometer has been dealt with. Turning to his side, Devcon logs into the space station’s main grid, checking for messages left by costumers, business associates, and drinking pals alike. _Ah_ … Nothing yet, but it doesn’t surprise him at all. The world he moves in hasn’t quite woken up yet and with that in mind, he connects to another frequency.

Due to the grids infrastructure, this section is highly populated. The flow of information is at its peak, and the insufferable VMO dominates it, spreading like a virus before him. He frowns and stays clear of their registration demands. The VMO isn’t known for being friendly for the likes of him, and they would never accept his claims upon the bar as valid. The estate is _old_ , and he has no way of getting his hands upon the title deeds or any other form of legal document confirming his title to Haven. Better play it safe, his logic chip suggests, and he fully agrees. 

There are few notes of interest, mostly concerning assaults on small-scale energon providers. Within a beat, however, the sheer amount of data being transmitted encourages Devcon to redirect his interest to other channels of communication.

Thus, optics still offlined, he idly goes through the feeds provided by the local business network, fondly called ”The Buzz.” This is the place where to find the smaller stuff – things important for the lower sections, those located within the original station’s perimeter. That includes Haven, of course. The bar, deep inside the maze of pipes and tunnels below the bazaar, provides those in need of privacy with a safe environment. The establishment is barely known outside the bazaar community, yet it still attracts those who wold rather keep their business out of broad daylight and prying optics.

Nevertheless, outside the usual mayhem caused by the grittier shades of society, nothing really captures his interest. The broadcasts are only filled with bazaar-announcements, which he quickly discards and put aside. Nothing much happens during the downtime anyway and commerce is down between the shifts. The station’s schedule makes it so, and why the slag would he change that?

He stretches and yawns, feeling all lazy, enjoying this rare moment of peace. There’s no hurry, none at all, and he can afford being lazy. With plenty of work and planning to do, but with no meetings or duties demanding his presence, he thus puts work out of his processor, an eager smile tugging at his lips. He will take some time off this Solar, and frag it to the Pit, but even the station’s schedule points it out. It’s downtime, right? _This_ ought to count as ’private time,’ as in 'time better spent doing other things than business, and Primus save his spark, but there are far more important things to tend to.

The smile turns tender, sweet almost, as he shakes sleep out of his systems, sending a quick command to lit the lamps in the berthroom. Light dim, the berth warm and soft, he inches closer to the source of everything good in his ’verse. Drawn like a cyber-moth to a beacon of light, he sees with his spark more than with his optics. He unshutters them, and there - next to him, sprawling all over the berth, black hands curled over delicate wings, lays Starscream.

_Sweet bird…_

Devcon shifts, never once taking his optics from his mate. He has no wish to disturb Starscream’s sleep, and there’s no reason to wake him up just yet. He carefully lifts a hand, touching Starscream’s face, tracing it slowly. His touch is gentle and caring, soft, despite the dark look upon his face. His gaze turns sombre, then drops to follow the strong line of the Seeker’s arm, all the way to his left hand. There the bracelet, black as a midnight, gleams beautifully. 

His spark aches all the sudden. 

Lifting his face to watch the sleeping Seeker, he accepts the pain without asking _why_ it’s there at all. In a way, he already knows. Defeated, he lowers himself and curls around Starscream, helm bumping into the smooth curve of an upper arm. His mate sleeps on, taking no notice of the hunter’s proximity. After a klik, Devcon lifts his helm and rests it upon the cockpit’s brightly coloured glass instead, studying his mate while running scans over Haven’s grounds. If asked, he would probably deny it, but in the darkness of their berthroom, there are no lies. 

The truth is as simple as it’s embarrassing - he’s guarding the Air Commander while he rests. Oh, it’s irrational and it annoys him to no end. Still, even if his behaviour is at best questionable, he cannot break the vigil. Perhaps, in the future, things will change back to what they used to be, as for now… 

Not just yet. Not until he is sure his mate truly is all right.

He’s no fool prone to self-deceit. He knows perfectly well what’s going on in the darker, less civilised parts of his CPU. He shutters his optics and sighs deeply. It’s the change of perspective that troubles him. Besides, there’s still the question of when this… thing, started. Was it before or after the pleasure-bot? A tough question, truly. He knows his own processor, will fully agree when accused of being a possessive, territorial glitch. In the end, all he can say for sure, is that letting a third part into their berthroom started a chain-reaction within him.

No matter how hard he tries, the bittersweet sensation in his core grows stronger with each passing Solar. It has become harder to ignore, and every time he gets rid of it, it bounces back, letting him know that things will not get back as how they used to be. He almost groans - for better or worse, his perception has been altered, and he has already lost the battle. Starscream would have his helm on a platter if he knew, but Devcon can’t help himself. It’s in his wires, as if written into his base coding. Quite honestly? Lately it's been overriding his processor power. 

His logic chip points the obvious out: what ever it is, it must have been triggered by the potential risk of emotional damage. He’d asked a lot of Starscream, had begged for trust, something not easily given and twice as hard to earn. Same might be said of him, of course, and perhaps that’s why they match so well. They've got no reason to trust any other mech, but each-other. As far as Devcon cares, it’s always been them against the world – well, worlds. Frag that, make that _universes_. It had certainly felt that way when they’d met, long ago, in the Pit.

Devcon nuzzles the cockpit lovingly and sighs softly. In the aftermath of their little game, his mate hadn’t behaved strangely. In fact, once awake, he’d been nothing but affectionate, his claws keeping Devcon firmly in place, all needy and oh, so possessive- 

The Seeker stirs and turns his helm to the side, putting a stop to Devcon’s chain of thoughts.

For a moment, the hunter feels quite lost. Then the moment passes, and he laughs silently. Such an old fool he is. There is no threat in their own home – well, slobbering critters and the random thug thinking they are easy prey, but nothing worse than that. Starscream knows this by spark. _That’s_ why the Seeker allows himself the luxury of a sound, proper rest and not the light recharge of a soldier. 

Frag it, but if the Air Commander suspected any harm coming their way, he’d be stalking Haven’s grounds, just waiting for the the danger to show itself. Starscream would play with it, and once bored, happily shred it to pieces. Knowing the Seeker, he would probably present the fresh kill with flaring wings and proud, intent optics - a gift from one hunter to another… Or, a pet’s gift to its master. 

Smiling at the thought, Devcon rubs his facepate against the swell of Starscream’s chest. Starscream doesn’t need his protection, can in fact hold his own ground against everybot, an old, glitching hunter included. 

_Primus_ , how he loves his pretty bird... 

As he watches the Seeker, his spark sends a sweet caress through the bond. It’s such a precious thing to see Starscream all relaxed, carefree. It makes his spark pulse stronger, makes it swirl faster. Shuttering his optics, the hunter remembers those first maddening Solars when he’d met Starscream. 

Back then, the Seeker had been another being altogether. A haunted mech, filled with passionate hate and fierce self-loathing. A mech willing to die for the sake of a throne that would never be his, lest he managed the impossible - to kill his leader.

Devcon kisses the cockpit and relaxes. He knows perfectly well that certain things will never change. Take Starscream – despite being mated to _him_ , he still remains true to his nature. Thus, if Megatron would show up in the space station, things might indeed get interesting. The Seeker wouldn’t be late to react, for starters. Throw in a few missiles, some dirty dog-fighting and mindless destruction, and things would look normal… Almost, anyway. Due to _some_ changes, it wouldn’t be the painful experience from the Pit. Frag, no – it would be something else entirely. 

This time, they would meet on equal ground, in Starscream’s own turf, and the scales would tip in his favour. Starscream might not be a warlord, but he used to be a warlord’s SIC. A SIC no longer, he still is a mech with a brilliant processor, raw strength, no honour… And, _back up_. 

The thought makes the hunter purr as he lovingly caresses the strength beneath him. His mate is a warrior at spark, all haughty and dangerous, a ruthless killer. Yet he happens to be the most gorgeous mech Devcon has ever seen. _That_ won’t change either, no matter what. He sighs and shutters his optics, the steady sound of engines gently lulling him back into recharge.

An eternity passes by. 

The gentle pull from the spark pulsing beneath Devcon’s helm keeps him somewhat awake, his own core responding to it, cooing sweetly. Drowsy, he fights sleep off, looking up to take in the sight of his chosen mate. So beautiful… Such a deadly grace. Sharing his warmth, holding onto, and stroking the pretty Seeker, Devcon finally knows what ”perfection” truly means. It makes his spark ache in a bittersweet way. He craves this, the comfort and the rewarding intimacy. Not long ago, such a thing would have been alien to him. It would have made him question his own processor.

Before the Pit he’d been another mech altogether. The owner of a scarred, violated spark – the aftermath of what went down between him, Cyclonus and Megatron. After Primus knew how many attempts to break, reprogram and erase his core, he’d been left more than just dark. Frag, not only dark, but tainted. In order to survive, he’d been forced to ignore aftermath of having his soul desecrated. There had been nothing but darkness, an he'd ceased to feel anything but rage. 

Teaming up with the Wreckers had given him a piece of his past back - _Rodimus_. It... had hurt, to see his Little Prime. Ther had been Apelinq, too, a friend from a time when he’d been... untouched. But even with Rodimus around, he hadn't been able to find peace. In the end, Rodimus had died and Apelinq had merged with a Prime, becoming something else. And, with Rodimus gone, he'd simply left. Rodimus had always been the one to pull him back from deep space, but now his Little Prime had been entombed in the depths of Cybertron. With no interest of a seat in the Council, he’d had simply left. Yet, upon leaving, Primus had all the sudden made it clear that war wasn't something he could quit. 

Things had got complicated after that, and refusing the god's demand had gifted him with a first-class trip to the Pit.

Punishment or fate, which was it?

It doesn't matter anymore, and he has stopped wondering about it. At times he still looks back with wonder - during his staying in the Pit, he'd made enemies of the Autobots because Starscream had chosen _him_ , and no mech else. The Seeker understood him then, and understands him now, craving his darkness. They are the perfect match, always were. Before the Pit, it would have disturbed the hunter greatly to be so close to a Seeker – knowing Skywarp had been bad enough. His mate, however, isn’t just any Seeker, but _the_ Seeker. He is the Decepticon Air Commander, a prince amongst his own, only beaten by Megatron, and barely that. 

Now, Darkness Incarnate sleeps peacefully beneath the hunter, trusting him like no other mech would dare to. Starscream shifts in his sleep, broad wings fluttering prettily. Devcon's attention moves from the exotic face up to an elegant wingtip, as if drawn to the sleek, smooth metal. The moody spell finally breaks, bad memories swiftly discarded by the sweet sight. He shutters his optics and draws a deep intake, nodding to himself - the only thing that matters, is what they have worked so hard for - the right to stay together, sharing life and one spark between them. 

_Nothing_ will take this from him.

Kissing the cockpit again, stroking it with gentle fingertips, the hunter finds peace in the simple touch, the warmth from the little spark below a sweet reminder of the painful hardship they went through just to put it there. He purrs. This, for him and him _only_. The kiss is replaced by his glossa and he licks the seams, teasing them lovingly. Adding pressure, he awaits his mate’s reaction, and there it is… 

The Seeker's fingers curl and uncurl, and a tiny sigh escapes the Seeker as he dreams of being pinned down, his mind full of the shared sensation of their fast flight, of their bonding dance, of swift turns, and the wild dive–

Starscream’s firewalls are momentarily down, and Devcon follows the paths of his brilliant mind. The Seeker is processing, moving data packets from one place to another, information blurry, yet vivid and colourful. The hunter doesn’t know what else to call it but ”dreaming”, and his spark swirls in its chamber, letting loose a current of needy, wordless praise. His mate reacts sweetly - a hand scratching the sensitive plating of a wing, his cockpit rising under the weight of the Devcon’s bulk. His movements are languid and heavy with sleep as his thrusters glide against the black sheets. 

The very picture of vulnerability, that he is, and all for the taking.

Something dark coils in the back of Devcon’s processor, something wild and dangerous, a thing better left unnamed. There’s no danger close, but the very thought of a foe finding his mate like this is enough for his programming to act up. He growls and presses closer to his sleeping mate, then drapes himself over him, shielding the Seeker against what ever danger that might, or not, come. It doesn’t matter that they are alone, nor does it matter that Starscream is stronger than most.

His mate can’t be killed, not really - he is immortal, a constant reminder of greater powers among lesser mechs. Starscream can pull his own weight – the Seeker is too stubborn to stay dead, anyway. This doesn’t mean he can’t be harmed. It certainly doesn’t mean his spark, so young and vulnerable, can’t be crushed. And, whilst Starscream will always return, what about the spark? 

Frag… How would they cope with _not_ being bonded after all this time?

Devcon doesn’t know, doesn’t even dare to think along those paths. He tenses, torn between the heated need to merge, and just to hold onto Starscream and never let go. His mate, so precious to him, responds and nuzzles Devcon in his sleep. He murmurs, still dreaming, and with a sweet sigh, he whispers Devcon’s designation. He keeps sending small pulses of pure need right through their bond. The hunter swallows, then leans closer, watching his mate’s face. Starscream intakes deeply, still asleep, but his spark seems to sink its claws into Devcon, and when has _he_ ever denied that little sun anything?

He purrs, and gives the Seeker what he wants. The kiss is deep and demanding, but gentle. Starscream arches into it, then sneaks an arm around Devcon’s waist, holding onto him, claws prickling his armour. Devcon moans against Starscream, suckling his glossa, pushing his way in between sleek thighs. Another sweet sigh follows, then Starscream’s panel opens with a slight hiss. Devcon pulls away, looms over him, growling softly under his breath. He wants to take his mate, but won’t do anything that will compromise Starscream’s integrity.

In the end, Starscream makes the decision for him. 

The Seeker gives a lazy roll to his hips, grip tightening. Optics barely open, yet glowing fiercely in the semi-darkness, Starscream mewls. Devcon’s spark flares and pleasure coils in his tank at that sound. He responds with controlled aggression and a barely audible prayer - the needy, demanding tone does things to him. Sweet Primus, but he needs his mate, _aches_ for him.

Starscream watches him with calculating optics, his lips wet and slightly bruised. He lifts a hand and strokes down Devcon’s aft, giving him that asymmetric smile of his. The hunter rubs against him, murmuring a sweet plea, his spark hot and heavy in its chamber. Starscream cups his aft, fingertips fondling and caressing the rounded planes. There’s a possessive edge to that touch, and suddenly there’s nothing submissive about Starscream. 

Devcon, drawn to his mate like a starving mech, meets the red gaze and swallows hard. Held in place, sweetly trapped, mesmerised, he nods just once. A nano-klik later he bites back a groan as Starscream’s spike pressurises and glides against his panel, leaving a wet trail behind. Starscream murmurs and nuzzles his neck, claws moving all over Devcon’s back. It tastes like liquid ecstasy, this moment of fervent, consuming love. And beyond their shared lust lust, there’s something even better - _trust_. It is to be treasured above anything else. 

The Seeker, never one to be domesticated or denied, reaches through the bond and takes control of their little tryst with ease. The bond transmits Devcon’s fierce love and dedication, and something sweeter still. Shivering in elation, bowing his helm, he groans, accepting his mate’s unmatched inner strength. What hides behind the constant scowl and sneer is mind-blowing. No, it’s perfection made physical, he corrects himself. He growls then, a sound on the verge of being desperate, and grinds down, sliding his panel open.

Starscream growls back, aggressive with passion, fangs bared. His hands move all the way up to Devcon’s helm, raking the elegant spike over his interface array, making sure the hunter can feel how hard he is. Devcon shudders, pleasure-stricken. His discipline is slowly giving way for the throbbing heat between his thighs. He swallows hard, then smiles - it's hardly uncommon for Starscream to spike him, but with the earlier turmoil in his processor, the claim feels like coming home after an exhausting hunt. 

It feels _right_. 

Thus, in the safety of their nest, Devcon drops the remaining firewalls, allowing Starscream to see what has been worrying him. There’s shame, and there’s also sliver of uncertainty, but in the end, they still share one spark and there’s no honour in hiding the truth. The Seeker stills, his hands coming to a stop. Devcon’s intakes seem unnaturally loud in the room, but then Starscream’s hands are moving again, only _this_ time, there are no claws involved. He gives Devcon a dark, hungry look, fingertips roaming all over the hunter’s tense frame, feeling him up, both grounding and soothing him. 

”Stupid Autobot,” he says after a klik, his tone fond. Devcon cannot look away, his core temperature rising steadily. Starscream’s sends a silent question/ _demand_ and Devcon nods, shifting on top of him until he is straddling the Seeker. Like this, Starscream will be able to see all of him, specially how the stiff spike is lined up against his valve. He feels exposed, but Starscream knows him too well, and bares his spark chamber for him. Something moves between them, a bundle of emotions, deep and raw, and it leaves Devcon trembling. When Starscream speaks again, it comes as a sultry purr, but there’s no mistaking his words.

” _My_ hunter…”

Starscream grinds, optics burning, and Devcon complies, lowering himself over the elegant spike. Here, there are no lies, no secrets. Face-plates flushed, he arches as Starscream eases his way in, meeting him halfway. The Seeker pumps his hips once, and Devcon cries out, falling forward. He catches himself against the bed with trembling arms, cursing under his breath. He has never been able to ride his mate properly, too much input - too many sensations, too much pleasure. Thighs splayed open, hands clawing the black sheets, he instead allows himself to be ravished. 

Starscream sets a gentle pace, fucking him with deep, hard in-strokes. The tiny spark pulses, dancing for its master, and in the hunter's spark-chamber, its twin tries to reach out. The steady, slow fuck makes Devcon hiss - the Seeker is in no way small. He _feels_ all of him, and every thrust sends a bolt of bliss through his frame. He arches, too close already, but Starscream snarls and grabs his wrists, using strength to keep him just there, never once stopping, only going deeper, harder, _faster_. He can pull away, if the pleasure becomes too much, but doesn’t. Trust goes both ways, after all.

A few thrusts later, Devcon overloads sharply. The world turns white as his shout echoes in their berthroom. Starscream moans raggedly, hands denting silvery wrists. He growls and rolls them, changing their positions. Devcon looks up as hands push his knees to the sides, exposing his valve. Starscream is over him a pulse later, slamming inside, hips jerking, giving as good as he usually takes. The hunter throws his helm back, howling as he writhes beneath the Seeker. Starscream knows him too well, doesn’t stop or slow down, keeps the rhythm even. Devcon’s optics are wide open, unseeing - there’s nothing but pain-laced pleasure wrecking his frame and processor, and he knows he is coming hard, because his valve grips _so hard_ -

”That’s it… Keep coming for me, Autobot,” Starscream growls and Devcon does, again and again and again, until heat is rolling off his frame and the sheets are wet from the condensation covering his limbs. 

Starscream murmurs filthy things against his audio, licking and kissing his neck, rutting harder as his cries grows desperate. When Devcon tries to squirm away, the Seeker traps him and grabs his hands, pressing them down. The hunter is stronger, he can break the Seeker’s grip, but once again he chooses not to. Instead, he turns his helm to the side, bites the mattress, and wails. Starscream gives a quiet snarl and suckles his neck, pressing their frames together. His spark licks Devcon’s chestplate, and the hunter sobs, almost drunk with pleasure.

Too much and yet not enough, no... Not nearly enough. It’s never enough, not until Devcon breaks under Starscream’s lovemaking. The Seeker holds him down, his hands heavy around his wrists, making sure to keep the hunter trapped. When the same hands suddenly grope his chest and midrif, Devcon widens his optics and looks at his own hands. He shutterblinks, but is sweetly distracted by the glossa molesting his spark-chamber’s seams.

”Wh-… What…?”

”Payback,” Starscream smirks and whatever he does next pushes Devcon closer to another overload. The hunter pulls at the handcuffs chaining him to the berth, gasping. He arches and for a moment there’s panic, but now Starscream is covering _him_ , shielding him from the 'verse, looking after him. Kisses along Devcon's jawline distracts him from the fact that he is bound, speared, and utterly helpless, lest he rips a good pair of handcuffs apart. Through the bond, a soft whisper of reassurance reaches him, and he draws a deep intake, shuttering his optics just as Starscream claims his lips.

He relaxes into the kiss, shivering each time Starscream’s spark licks his chest-plate. A hand is stroking his helm, another is busy pressing his thigh to the mattress. The warmth is sweet, the pleasure the same. It’s… new. He has never been one to accept dominance, but Starscream is a warrior at spark, and sometimes his tastes swing that way. Devcon has never been in this position, but then, there’s always a first time for everything, right?

”You okay, hunter?” 

The slight hiss of his spark-chamber opening is answer enough. The ever greedy, hungry spark above latches to the tendrils of energy and Devcon cries out, optics almost round. Starscream gives a whine and pushes closer, his claws once again prickling Devcon’s armour. Later, he’ll be aching so good. His valve is slick and too-tight, the spike raking over hyper-sensitive nodes and sensors. Oh, frag, he’ll be a mess, but he doesn’t care, _cannot_ care - there’s bliss and heat everywhere. There’s his mate’s presence, his broken moans, and that demanding tone to his vocals, craving more, always more. 

Starscream is riding him hard, and Devcon can feel the sting of his passion. His valve clamps down on the hard, big spike, but the spark he created for his mate is sinking its claws into the tiny star in his chamber, and now he feels naught but burning light. He screams his throat raw, and curls into his mate, but there’s no hiding from it, and the merging hurls him from bliss to ecstasy. Starscream bites his lower lip, then kisses him hard, swallowing his helpless wail. Bound, taken, his spark being devoured, Devcon knows nothing but his mate.

He breaks under the pressure, dissolves in the Seeker's arms. The high hits him, and in the midst of what seems to be one everlasting overload, Starscream’s radiant core surrounds him. The connection feels like flying at high speed, diving and feeling the drop - it's the joy, the sweetness of a hunt, just like their first kiss, even better than that first touch to his spark – the one that reset everything, and beyond that –

 _...darkness_.

 

When he wakes up, Starscream has gotten the handcuffs off him. The Seeker is watching him closely, gauging his reactions. Devcon turns his helm, too weak to do more than that. Things are being said, wordless emotions mostly, but there’s no shame in admitting his fears. The Seeker looks haughty, cuts a frightening picture, but his optics are soft. So are his hands, stroking Devcon’s shivering frame. They ground him, the touches sweet but never hesitant. Devcon knows that he let Starscream have everything this one time, and it’s a triumph of sorts. Between the two of them it’s Devcon who has no reason to entrust himself to another.

Starscream accepts the fact that it might not happen again, and as the Seeker lies down, curling fully around him, Devcon decides that work can happen another cycle. He presses his face against Starscream’s strong neck, and shutters his optics.

A few kliks later, darkness takes him again, but this time, he isn’t alone, and Starscream shares his dreams.


End file.
